A rose grows without having a say about it, and yet a rose knows it is fulfilling its destiny.

A rose in bloom knows when it is loved. It feels the difference and adores being loved, and a rose always loves. A rose has awareness of its rise from rose hip to full-blown rose. A rose doesn't know the words, but a rose knows its own roseness, and is glad to be this one in a million rose.

A rose may be red, and it loves its redness even though the rose doesn't know the names of colors, and still a rose loves himself as he is.